


The Past in the Cross

by mggislife2789



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Abuse, F/M, Interrogation, Molestation, child molestation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mggislife2789/pseuds/mggislife2789
Summary: Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their original stories. This is only for fun. It's where my brain goes after the credits roll. No copyright intended. Better safe than sorry. ;)





	The Past in the Cross

Ah. Saturday. A day for not doing a damn thing except lounging on the couch and watching movies with Spencer. Both of you had had a long week. Time to relax. 

As soon as the thought left your head, Spencer’s phone rang, and you were convinced that the world was conspiring against you. He undoubtedly had a case. “Why?” you heard him ask whoever was calling him.

Apparently, the answer wasn’t to his satisfaction, because he hung up with a huff and turned to you. “You have to come in with me,” he said. You? You didn’t work with the BAU. You worked at an art installation across town. 

“Why?” you asked confused. 

“Steven Chabon is dead.” You hadn’t heard that name in years. You were hoping to never hear it again for as long as you lived, but apparently that was too much to ask. 

Swallowing hard, you wondered why that mattered anyway. Why did you need to go into the BAU- “He was murdered?” Spencer nodded. “And I’m a suspect?” Your body went cold. You didn’t want to hear the man’s name ever again, what would possibly make anyone think that you’d want to get close enough to him to kill him. 

Spencer rubbed his temple and closed his eyes. “They don’t think you’re a suspect, but we wouldn’t be doing our jobs if we didn’t bring you in to ask you a couple of questions…Morgan’s words not mine.” As you started to shake, Spencer came over to you and wrapped his arms around you. Even in death you couldn’t escape him. All the therapy you’d been through to put that man out of your mind. To work through all he’d put you through, and now it was all going to get unraveled because the bastard had died - had finally gotten what was coming to him. 

“Dammit,” you whispered into Spencer’s chest. “Not again.”

—-

You’d walked into the BAU numerous times before. Going out to lunch with his friends and whatnot. But now you’d end up shaking every time you had to walk into that building. Another thing taken away from you by that bastard, Steven Chabon.

“You never told them about him, right?” you asked. When he shook his head, you guessed that Garcia had pulled up a cursory search of people who might have a vendetta against him. Damn right, you did. But that didn’t mean you were going to kill him. Granted, you wanted him dead, but you weren’t going to kill him.

Spencer kissed your forehead and let you walk inside the interrogation room, promising he’d be there for you when you got out. “I’m sorry to bring you in here, Y/N,” Morgan said. “But your name came up in a search, so I have to ask you some questions.”

“Get on with it, Morgan.” You were never that curt with him, but there was nothing you’d rather be doing less right now than this. 

He swallowed hard, asking how you knew him. “Morgan, is this really necessary?” you asked. “My name came up in a search. You have to know what it was for. Steven Chabon molested me every goddamn day after school in seventh and eighth grade. Every. Damn. Day.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, shaking his head as he pressed on. He knew what answering these questions must’ve been doing to you, but he had to do his job. “When did you last him?”

As the taste of bile rose in your throat, you remembered the day he was convicted of child molestation and sentenced to 20 years in prison. He only served 11 and must’ve recently been released. “November 14, 2008,” you said flatly. “The day he was sentenced to 20 years for molesting myself and another student, Jenna Mizeski.”

“Can I ask you to take a look at the crime scene?” If he truly thought you were a suspect, he’d wouldn’t have asked. He would’ve just shown you the pictures to gaze your reaction.

Reluctantly, you reached out for the pictures before pulling back. “Is his body in the pictures?” you asked. He nodded. “Good. I want to see him dead.” That took Morgan a little off-guard, but after the original exclamation, you could see that he understood. 

The second you looked at them, you muttered ‘I win’ to yourself, but the feeling of relief that he was dead was short lived. A spray-painting of a Maltese cross was splayed above his head. You wanted to say nothing, but your face betrayed you. “You see something?”

“The cross,” you muttered, barely audible even in the silent room.

“What does it mean?” he asked. “To you.” You were vaguely aware of Morgan’s past with Carl Buford, so you could only imagine that he also had something that reminded him of Carl even though it shouldn’t. It was the same with you and the Maltese cross. 

You could practically taste the copper you were biting your tongue so hard. “It was on his desk,” you breathed. “I would be facing it when he touched me.” You knew his next question was going to be if anyone else knew about the cross. “I don’t know if anyone else but Jenna was molested by him. Me guess would be yes.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” Morgan said. 

You nodded, grateful to be done with this. “Hey Morgan?” He turned around, unsure of what you were about to say. “If this was her, or someone else he hurt that I don’t know about, can I be called to testify on their behalf?”

The answer was yes. And although a man was dead. He knew exactly how you felt. Whoever killed Steven Chabon was a hero in her eyes. Morgan walked out of the room and allowed you to leave. The second you saw Spencer, you started sobbing, collapsing into him as the rest of the team made their way to the round table room. “I’m sorry,” he said, hugging you tighter and rubbing your back. “I’m so, so sorry.”

If it weren’t for Spencer, his reassuring touch at your back, there was no way you’d be standing right now. Spencer was the one part of your life that Chabon hadn’t influenced, and now he’d fucked that up too. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, reading your thoughts. “I’m with you.”


End file.
